


FIC: The Path of Things Undone 2/2

by trancer



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Dark, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-26
Updated: 2010-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/pseuds/trancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/182636">"Ripples of Undoing"</a>. This is how it all came to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FIC: The Path of Things Undone 2/2

Kahlan is unimpressed with the wizard named Zeddicus Zu’l Zorander. A Wizard of the First Order. Who hides away in his cabin in the woods, pretending to be a crazy old man who talks to chickens, rather than train the Seeker for a war the old man knows, down deep in his bones, is coming.

Zedd’s refusal to tell Richard his destiny, to properly train him so Richard can ‘get a little dirt under his fingernails’, as if he were a little boy still needing to be coddled instead of a grown man, it has cost the world dearly. It has cost Kahlan personally. For that, she will neither forget nor forgive.

She is even less impressed when Zedd names the farm boy, Richard Cypher, the one true Seeker. While kindhearted, Richard is woefully naïve. There’s also something else. Something the wizard doesn’t see, or refuses to see. There’s a darkness in Richard. He is sweet and kind, but he is also quick tempered, eager to settle with sword before words. And his gaze, when he thinks Kahlan is not looking, he looks at her like she‘s nothing more than a simple farm girl ripe for conquest, and he‘s the conqueror.

Kahlan is unimpressed with them both, and begins to wonder why she should defer to a farm boy from Hartland rather than be the general who should lead.

**

“Kahlan, please..” Richard pants breathlessly into her ear.

It’s only been a month and Kahlan has tired of both Zedd and Richard. She’s tired of Zedd and his constant natterings, incessantly telling her of her role as Confessor, the binds that tie Confessor and Seeker together, destiny and love. As if the story has already been written. As if Kahlan doesn’t have a choice in how it will end.

Richard’s worse. He doesn’t really buy into Zedd’s words, he doesn’t believe in destiny. Zedd’s words are merely an excuse. And Kahlan has grown tired of his constant begging, pleading, and whining, becoming more emboldened the longer the three travel together. Because Richard, regardless of which one he’s wielding, thinks only with his sword.

So Kahlan gives Richard this, just this, her hand down his trousers, wrapped around his manhood. Back to a tree, Richard’s pressed against her, his lips to her ear. Because, even though she gives him ‘this’, it’s still not enough for Richard.

“I want more than your hand around me. I want to be inside you,” he breathes into her ear as he rolls his hips. “I know you want it to.”

“Richard,” Kahlan sighs in irritation. “You know I can’t.” Which is a lie. She’d learned years ago the ways to get around her powers when coupling. Kahlan just doesn’t want to. She finds the idea of giving herself to him beneath her.

“It doesn’t have to be the entire time,” he pleads gently. “Just a little bit. I’ll pull out. I promise.”

It takes everything within her to stifle the laugh. She’s heard words like these many times before, from sweeter tongues than Richard Cypher’s. “We both know that’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists. His fingers drift to the sides of Kahlan’s thighs, curling up and down, pulling up Kahlan’s skirt. “I promise. Just one second.. a minute, I mean. I won’t even move.”

“Richard,” she growls softly, feeling the night air on her knees, Richard’s hand already moving to the inside of her bared thigh. The hard pulse of his erection in her hand because he‘s already thinking of being inside her. “Stop.”

“You know you want it,” he husks lowly, fingers already pulling at the waistband of her under things. “No one has to know.”

There is no misinterpreting Kahlan’s low and feral growl. She squeezes Richard’s manhood like she’s holding a dagger and about to pierce bone, then squeezes even more and twists. Richard’s too shocked to scream, already doubling over in pain. Kahlan reaches up with her other hand, grabs him by the throat, twisting the two around and slams Richard against the tree.

“Listen, farm boy!” It’s not magic that consumes her, but rage. She doesn’t need her gift to subdue Richard. She pushes her face close to his, her eyes cold as ice. “Do not ever think you can take what I do not freely give. You might be the Seeker but you are not *that* special.” She shoves him as she pushes herself away. “And you can always be replaced.”

**

Kahlan doesn’t know what to do. She has completed her Confessor’s training. Done everything that’s been asked of her. Became the woman they wanted her to be, expected her to be. She put her faith in the Confessor’s and, yet, Kahlan finds her faith wavering. Because they told her to always trust in ‘him’, the Seeker, only Kahlan knows..

Richard is wrong. And like a fool blinded by faith, Kahlan forced herself to believe he was right.

She sits on a large boulder, alone in the forest, staring at the charm she’s kept with her for years. Kahlan doesn’t know what to do and she wonders if now is the right time, knowing she really doesn’t have a choice. Shota is the only one who can answer the question Kahlan desperately needs to ask.

Clenching the charm tightly in her fist, Kahlan closes her eyes and thinks one name. The air stills, the birds and leaves quiet.

“Kahlan Amnell.”

Kahlan opens her eyes, almost smiling in relief as Shota stands before her. Kahlan slides off the boulder, standing on her feet. “Shota,” she nods respectfully. “You see the future, right?”

“I see the many possible paths and their equal outcomes.”

“And what will happen if Dennee’s child reaches adulthood?”

Shota’s brown eyes darken as her face turns stony. “You used your charm to ask me a question you already know the answer to?”

Shoulders sagging, Kahlan lowers her head, crestfallen. “I wanted to believe it was the right thing.”

“So have many before you, to their own ruination.”

“Can’t something be done?”

“There is only one thing to be done. And you already know what it is.”

“Dennee’s child must die.” Kahlan closes her eyes, inhales deeply. She has her beliefs but she knows to believe blindly is to be a fool. Kahlan resolves to not let herself be fooled again. They are at war and, sometimes, great sacrifices have to be made. Her father taught her that. As much as Kahlan loves her sister, she knows it was wrong to let Dennee’s child live.

“Kahlan?” Shota asks, stirring Kahlan from her thoughts.

Kahlan opens her eyes. “I need to ask you for something.” Jaw clenching, she sets her resolve. This is what leaders do, this is what *generals* do, make the hard decisions. That decision had been before Richard and he’d failed, dooming the world by choosing blind faith over hard fact. This time, Kahlan would not be so naïve in her beliefs. “I need you to find me a mercenary. Someone ruthless, without morals, who will not pause when it comes to the killing of a child. I would do what needs to be done but Richard’s faith in me is already strained and I need to remain by his side to make sure what needs to be done in the future gets done. Can you.. do this for me?”

Shota circles, stops until she is shoulder to shoulder with Kahlan, the two facing opposite directions. “I will do this on one condition,” Shota turns her face towards Kahlan’s. “You must be the one to convince this mercenary to take your cause.”

“I..” Kahlan stammers.

“North of Agaden Reach,” Shota ignores her. A mist begins to rise from the forest floor, seemingly from nowhere. Shota begins to walk away. “On a hill overlooking the valley sits ancient ruins. Be there in a fortnight and you will have your mercenary.”

**

For the first time in a very long time, Cara Mason sleeps alone. She has finally earned the position she’s sought - Lord Rahl’s favorite. The position has allotted her quarters of her own, quarters almost as immaculate as the Lord Rahl’s himself, plush carpets, large and high windows overlooking the city, and, most importantly, a large, four-poster bed, often filled with recruits seeking favor, willing to do anything and everything she commands.

It is a good life for a Mord’Sith, if Cara were the type to want for such trivial things. Cara does not. She wants one and one thing only, the feel of Darken Rahl’s heart in her hand as she squeezes. The thought has begun to plague her ever since that night in the brothel, when the sorceress reminded Cara of her promise.

Cara plans and waits and bides her time, time that always seems out of reach. And her desire to kill Darken Rahl has reached a boiling point, bordering on obsession.

It is early morning, and Cara has yet to rise. She turns her head, refusing to awaken to the sound of recruits, like the morning song of birds and crickets, in the training yard, working on formations, or the screams of the recruits down below being broken. She is the Lord Rahl’s favorite and, today, Cara wishes to sleep in.

The creak of a floorboard, Cara’s eyes snap open and she’s off the bed like a streak of lightening, Agiel in hand. Blonde hair, red leathers, the face is a blur as Cara’s fist connects with the Sister who dared enter Cara’s room uninvited.

The woman instantly doubles over, dropping to hands and knees and Cara sneers at a Mord’Sith so weak as to fall from a single punch. Hand whipping out, Cara grabs the woman by the top of her braid, yanks the head back.. and gasps in surprise.

“Denna?” she says in disbelief, at the sudden precariousness of her position. By orders of Lord Rahl, Denna is to be killed on sight for failing Lord Rahl after she lost the Boxes of Orden. If they are caught together, Cara knows she will no longer be Lord Rahl’s favorite. Growling, she tightens her grip, pulling Denna’s neck back further. “What are you doing here?”

For the first time, Cara notices how dirty and disheveled Denna looks. Her braid is too loose, like she hasn’t combed it in days. Her leathers are dust covered, torn in spots. There’s a wild, frantic look in her eyes. Fear. It radiates off Denna.

“Denna?” Cara growls again.

“You asked for my allegiance once,” Denna pants, regaining some semblance of composure. “This is me, proving myself to you.”

Denna has sworn her allegiance to Cara, it doesn’t mean Cara actually trusts her. Denna’s tongue is forked and the moment the opportunity arises, Cara knows Denna would swear her allegiance to another if it meant her own gain. “How?” Cara asks.

“By delivering a message.”

“A message from who?”

“I don’t know.” Denna shakes her head despite the hand tightly holding it. “I was running for my life and a sorceress appeared before me. She said I was to find you. Tell you,” Denna pauses, remembering the words. “If you wish to fulfill your promise, go to the ancient ruins north of Agaden Reach. Where you will receive an offer you can’t refuse.”

**

It’s been two days since Cara arrived at the ancient ruins, nothing more than toppled stones covered in moss. At first, it’s a welcomed respite, a time away from the People’s Palace, Lord Rahl and his obsession with finding the Boxes of Order and destroying the Seeker. It’s a welcome respite from sharing his bed, something considered an honor amongst her Sister‘s. Cara thinks of it as another form of torture. It takes everything within her these days to keep her thoughts from reflecting in her eyes. To keep her fingers from twitching, thinking of how they’d feel wrapped around Rahl’s neck.

But, time in the ancient ruins has stretched too long and Cara’s beginning to feel as if she’s been duped. By Denna. The sorceress. Perhaps both. It has been a welcome respite but Cara knows, to come home empty handed would be to raise Rahl’s suspicions. And she’s come too close to fail now.

She reenters the forest, going on another perimeter check to ease her boredom, thinking of the ways she’s going to torture Denna for lying to her. How she’s going to trap the sorceress and torture her. Possibly torture Denna and the sorceress together.

She stops in her tracks at the sound of hooves coming closer, squats down in the bushes, hand around the hilt of her Agiel. A flash of white and Cara’s lips curl into a feral grin, knowing she hasn’t been betrayed at all.

But, given a gift.

**

Kahlan slows her horse at the edge of the ancient ruins. She dismounts and walks around the old stones. There are signs of a camp, the ashes of a campfire, an indentation from a bedroll. Kahlan begins to wonder if she’s missed this window of opportunity when every single hair on the back of her neck suddenly stands on edge, a tiny voice in the back of her brain screaming for her to duck.

She ducks down, just in time to avoid something swinging for her head. Hands yanking the daggers from her boots, Kahlan spins on her feet towards her attacker. Towards..

A Mord’Sith.

There’s no time for thoughts of Shota’s betrayal, or why. Kahlan is immediately on the defensive, blocking the hard swings of the Agiel hissing towards her. The look on the Mord’Sith’s face is an animalistic glee. Kahlan doesn’t have time to be afraid, she’s too busy fighting for her life.

They dance around the ruins. There are punches and kicks, fists and elbows. The stab of an Agiel, the slice of a Confessor’s dagger. Mid-morning turns to afternoon, neither advancing, neither willing to retreat because, they both know, retreating would mean their own death.

Kahlan’s muscles scream, her robes are soaked with sweat, her hair sticks wetly to her scalp. And she is angry. Angry at this Mord’Sith who will not yield. Angry at Shota for leading Kahlan into a trap. Angry at herself for putting her faith in another who’s betrayed her. She has no other thoughts other than to defend herself, try to find an advantage.

Then, a thought hits her. A memory of she and her father on a hill such as this one, overlooking a village as the Mord’Sith raze it to the ground. She realizes, in that moment, why she can gain no ground. She’s been fighting like a Confessor. If she wants to win, she needs to do what this Mord’Sith does not expect..

Kahlan needs to fight like a Mord’Sith.

It’s a move the Mord’Sith doesn’t expect, a cheap shot, because Confessor’s don’t use cheap shots. It’s to the groin, misses by a few inches and strikes the Mord‘Sith on the inner thigh. But, it’s effective, stuns the Mord’Sith for a fraction of a second and a fraction of a second is all Kahlan needs.

She strikes with a fist to the jaw, quickly follows with a backhand. Again and again and again. The Mord’Sith’s head whips back and forth. Her eyes glaze. The Agiel falls from her hand and Kahlan kicks it away.

Kahlan strikes again. Her fingers clasp around the Mord’Sith’s throat as her magic surges and she slams the woman against a tree. There’s a rush, thick and heady, but it’s not Kahlan’s gift causing her stomach to clench and her muscles to thrum. Kahlan realizes Shota hasn’t betrayed her.

She’s given Kahlan a gift.

 _There isn’t a general alive who wouldn’t want the Mord’Sith at their command._

She pulls back her magic, the Mord’Sith coughing and sputtering as Kahlan’s mouth goes slack at the feel, at the *idea* of what’s beneath her fingers.

Power.

She yanks the woman towards her then slams her, once again, against the tree, then presses her body flush against the Mord’Sith’s.

“Who’s in charge?” she growls and when the woman doesn’t answer, Kahlan tightens her grip and slams her hard against the tree again. “I said, who’s in charge?”

The Mord’Sith opens her eyes, glares back at Kahlan with angry defiance. “You are,” she spits.

“Yes,” Kahlan taunts. “I am. And do you know why you’re here? At the ancient ruins just north of Agaden Reach?”

The Mord’Sith stiffens, her eyes twitching and Kahlan lets loose a little of her magic, just to remind the Mord’Sith who’s in charge. “What’s your name?” she asks.

“Cara.”

“Cara,” Kahlan says the word like she’s tasting it. “I’m here to ask for your assistance.” She watches Cara’s face twitch minutely, seeing the wheels turn in Cara’s mind. “A Confessor has given birth to a male child, has refused to perform the Ritual of Water, choosing to raise the child instead. I’m sure you know what the stakes are if that child continues to live.”

Head tilting, Cara stares back at Kahlan. The information she’s received would bring her even more favor with Lord Rahl. “You play.. a dangerous game, Confessor.”

“Those in charge typically do.”

“What makes you think I’d be in league with a Confessor?”

“At the moment, you don’t have a choice. Refuse my offer and I will find another Mord‘Sith,” Kahlan pauses, raising an eyebrow. “Like I found you.”

“And if I accept?”

“I will give you the location of the Confessor’s child but on one condition.”

Cara’s eyes narrow as she realizes the battle is not quite lost. Confessor’s aren’t known for duplicity and Cara finds the Confessor’s domination both intriguing and intoxicating. Cara realizes the battle is not quite lost. Notes the rising flush on the Confessor’s cheeks, a flush not created by the rush of battle. The dilation of blue eyes, the increasing heartbeat Cara can feel against her own chest. The Confessor may be a talented warrior but this, seduction, is the realm where Cara is the better. And Cara shifts, pressing her thigh against the apex of the Confessor’s thighs. “Which is?”

Leather creaks as Cara gives a slight roll of her hips and Kahlan can‘t help her mouth from going slack at the sudden hard pulse between her legs. “Swear your allegiance to me.”

For a moment, Cara thinks about resisting. The hand on her throat isn’t as tight as it used to be. The pain in her body has receded. She calculates what she would need to do to subdue the Confessor. How her elevated station would increase by bringing the woman to Lord Rahl, along with the information she’s received. But, Cara’s not quite the loyal Mord’Sith she used to be. “You’re,” she pauses, the corners of her lips barely curving into a smile. “Kahlan Amnell.”

“Yes.”

“Then, I will accept your offer,” Cara arches her neck, leaning into Kahlan’s fingers. “On one condition.”

“Which is?” Kahlan’s eyes no longer stare at Cara’s but focus on Cara’s lips.

“The death of Darken Rahl..” Cara runs her tongue over her lips, already in anticipation of sealing the deal. “Shall be at my hands.”

The shudder running down Kahlan’s spine is achingly similar to one of release, and Kahlan can’t help but groan at the sensation. All the ones before have been leading her to this, to *her*. The perfect soldier and, now, she’s all Kahlan’s.

“Agreed.” Kahlan doesn’t give Cara the opportunity to respond. She pounces, clamping her mouth onto Cara’s. Teeth clacking, split lips against split lips, dueling tongues, the taste of spit and blood. Kahlan keeps her hand around Cara’s throat, because she likes the way it feels, she likes how Cara acquiesces to her touch.

It’s her other hand that makes her growl into Cara’s mouth. She drifts it down and everything’s leather and buckles and laces. Unfamiliar with the Mord’Sith’s uniform and her fingers are nothing but clumsy fumbling. Then, her fingers find purchase, the right laces loosen and Kahlan and Cara are purring and growling into each other’s mouths as Kahlan’s fingers finally slip between leather and skin.

Three fingers, pushed hard, pushed deep and Cara cries out. Kahlan shudders. Their rhythm chaotic, hurried and frantic. Kahlan’s fingers, Cara’s thigh. Cara fights release but she knows there are some battles that can’t be won. She keens, bucking and writhing before the paroxysm seizes her throat.

It’s the most erotic thing Kahlan has ever seen, that she’s ever felt. Because Cara’s keening, bucking, clenching. There’s Cara’s thigh. Even with the barrier of her robes, her slacks, Cara’s leathers, Kahlan can feel every twitch of Cara’s muscle against her. The rush returns and Kahlan knows, this time, she won’t be able to contain her magic.

“Don’t move,” she pants in warning, clenching her eyes already swirling with black closed. Quickly, Kahlan withdraws her hand, Cara hissing at the sudden loss. Kahlan plants both her hands on the tree, nails digging into the bark. Cara lifts her thigh just a little more. Kahlan juts her hips, harder, faster and it’s almost painful because Kahlan’s never quite wanted release as much as she does now.

It does happen, quick and hard like its taken Kahlan by surprise and all she can do is hold on, nails digging into the tree, as everything within her seems to explode.

Cara knows one of two things will happen, either Kahlan’s magic will kill her or it won’t. But, she’s certain no Mord’Sith has ever been where she is - bringing a Confessor to release. If she survives, it will make her the greatest Mord’Sith in history.. if she survives.

Kahlan throws her head back as her body bucks and writhes, spasming against Cara. Cara can feel the magic, buffeting around her like the gale force winds of a storm. The sensation stings and burns but Cara’s used to the pain, and it’s nothing compared to the feel when Kahlan’s fingers were wrapped around Cara’s throat.

Spent, her magic ebbing, Kahlan crumbles. Cara catches her, lowers Kahlan to the forest floor. She pushes up Kahlan’s skirt until its bunched above her thighs, gloved fingers pulling down the clothing underneath as Cara slides down onto her stomach. She is not the Mord’Sith she used to be, but she is still a woman of honor. Mostly. She gave Kahlan her word in this dangerous game of theirs. A game as dangerous as pleasuring a Confessor and bringing her to release. Which is all Cara thinks about as she lowers her lips to Kahlan’s flesh. She will either meet the Keeper or return to Lord Rahl, either way, it will be with a Confessor’s taste on her tongue.

**

For the rest of the world, it’s been several weeks. For Shota, who stands inside the Palace of the Prophets, it’s only been a few hours. Quietly, patiently, she’s been standing inside the room where prophecies are born.

Shota sees the paths leading to the future. Long, winding roads, crossing and tangling like silk on a spider web. Some are thicker. Some are thinner. Some are meant to be. Some are only illusions of what could be. There are also the paths, Shota knows, that have to be created. For a long time, Shota has seen the paths and watched as those in power strode them, bringing the world closer and closer to ruination.

She also saw two paths, one with a Confessor, the other a Mord’Sith. And she saw what would happen if those two paths converged. If. She also saw a Wizard, a Seeker, a Lord Rahl. The ways they directly and indirectly kept those two paths from connecting. Until Shota became no longer content with just watching the paths, attempting to influence those who walked upon them, knowing they would never listen.

She started creating paths of her own.

The air thickens, the hundreds of candles within the room flicker and dance and, on the far side of the wall where the blank canvas hangs, words begin to form. A path is revealed.

Lips curling into a smile as she reads the text, Shota turns to leave the Palace of the Prophets and return to where she’s needed.

**

It’s a good day to be a Mord’Sith. It’s a better day for Cara Mason. Sending 24 Mord’Sith for one Confessor and one child is, even for the Mord’Sith, overkill. But, they arrive and find more than just one Confessor but the struggling remains of the entire Confessor line. Whether Kahlan knew this when she order Cara to Valeria, Cara does not know. She just respects her new Mistress a little more by assuming Kahlan did.

It’s a surprise attack, over as quickly as it begun. All are dead except for one. Cara gives chase after the Confessor who faked death then ran at the first opportunity.

This is what she was trained for. This is who she is and she grins as her body moves in perfect symphony, giving chase to her prey. She grins at the idea of the reward her new Mistress will give her for performing her duties so efficiently and perfectly.

The chase ends with the skid of Confessor boots before the edge of a high cliff. The woman spins around, battered and bleeding, her eyes still defiant though the battle has been lost.

Cara slows to a halt, brandishing her Agiel menacingly. She narrows her eyes, examining the woman because there’s something ‘familiar’ about her, like Cara should know her somehow. The thought is lost with the insistence of duty. Familiar or not, Cara has a task and she *will* complete it.

“It’s over Confessor,” she says. “Your husband and child are dead. The only thing left is for you to reunite with them in the Underworld.”

“Maybe,” Dennee says, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head defiantly, a Confessor to the end. “But, it won’t be by your hand.”

With that, Dennee turns and flings herself over the cliff’s edge.

Cara rushes towards the edge, peers down to see nothing but jagged rocks and crushing surf. Confessor’s are strong but Cara’s knows even a Confessor couldn’t survive the fall.

**

Today, Kahlan knows, is a good day. They have retrieved the Book of Shadows from the librarian named Livia and a painter named James. With the book, and when the Boxes of Orden are retrieved, they will use them to finally defeat Darken Rahl. And Kahlan..

She doesn’t know what she’ll do.

She steals herself away from Richard and Zedd, finds a quiet spot in the woods next to a gurgling stream. She has no idea what she’ll do but she’s grown tired of listening to both Richard and Zedd’s plans for her.

Richard has already begun thinking of the empire awaiting him as Lord Rahl, with Kahlan at his side as his wife. Zedd talks of marriage and babies as if Kahlan’s duties as Confessor are inconsequential to being Richard’s brooding mare. It irritates and it angers and, though Kahlan doesn’t know what she’ll do after Darken Rahl’s defeated, she knows that this time..

She is not alone.

There is Shota, the sorceress. Kahlan wonders how to contact the woman now that she’s used her charm. Though she’s knows she’ll see Shota again and, when she does, Kahlan will use the opportunity to discuss her destiny in a little more detail. Kahlan’s seen Shota’s animosity towards Zedd and she’s pretty certain Shota would not have intervened if Kahlan’s destiny was to end as nothing more than the Seeker’s mate.

There is also the Mord’Sith to consider. _Kahlan’s_ Mord’Sith. The mere thought of Cara sends a sudden shiver down Kahlan’s spine. As much as she wants to see Shota, she wants to see Cara more. It’s more than the visceral thrill of having a Mord’Sith at her command. If the wizard wants to prattle on about destiny and fate, Kahlan knows hers lies more with the Mord’Sith at her command than the Seeker she’s supposed to stand behind, as opposed to beside or in front.

It is a good day. The sun shines warmly, the stream by her gurgles pleasantly and Kahlan lays down, tucking a hand behind her head to enjoy the moment. She doesn’t know what she’ll do but, with a sorceress at her beckon call, a Mord’Sith at her command, Kahlan knows, whatever path lies before her..

The path will be of Kahlan‘s choosing and it will not be undone.

END


End file.
